


No light

by Captain_Mercurian



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Reign (TV), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Hollow Crown (2012), Thor (Movies)
Genre: After this it gets sad, Bash as a cheeky bastard, Bash is a pighead, But Henry IV doesn't, But they really love each other, Hal thinks they're weeds instead, Has is a chicken, Henry IV is not happy about that, Loki as Prince Hal, M/M, The french have nine lifes, They're both cheeky, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony as an english lord, Tony reminds Hal of Bash, Warnings May Change, and dickhead, but Tony is there to comfort Hal
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-28
Updated: 2014-05-01
Packaged: 2018-01-21 02:20:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1534037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Captain_Mercurian/pseuds/Captain_Mercurian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You're a chicken.”</p>
<p>“And you're a pighead.”</p>
<p>“What a pair.”</p>
<p>“We're not a pair.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, but just because you're a chicken.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Hal knew falling in love with the french, cheeky bastard was a really bad idea. But then again, when did Hal ever listen to his inner voice?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The french rat

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [No light in your bright blue eyes](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1489606) by [Captain_Mercurian](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Captain_Mercurian/pseuds/Captain_Mercurian). 



> This is the fanfic to my fanvid 'No light in your bright blue eyes'.
> 
> Don't watch the vid if you want to read this without spoiler!
> 
> P.S.: Tony will be a major character in later chapters.

Hal could feel his eyes on him. Beautiful blue eyes that belonged to the bastard son of their french diplomat Francis de Poitier. Always looking at him, always holding his gaze. His name was Sebastian – or Bash if you were his friend.  
They talked sometimes. Well... if those meaningless chatterings counted as talking, of course.  
It wasn't like Hal didn't want to talk to him. He really did. Bash was charming and funny, a great warrior and an even greater orater. Getting and keeping attention was one of his best skills.  
And he was handsome, gorgeous even. Tall and slim with shaggy brown hair and a captivating smile. He was dangerous for Hal. Since he laid eyes on him for the first time Bash had been like a damocles sword, swinging threateningly over his sanity and safety.

Bash wasn't the first man he felt attracted to. There were lots of handsome nobles, swaggering around like peacocks. But those men were nothing more but beautiful puppets, pretending to be gods in human bodies. Bash was different in so many ways.  
He remembered the look in his eyes when their gazes met for the very first time. There had been astonishment, a brief touch of fear even. Hal was almost sure that his own eyes kept the same emotions, as two pairs of blue eyes stared into one another.  
This lucky bastard stole his heart within a week, without even talking to him. All Bash needed to do was to smile at him once in a while with those perfect lips of his. All Bash needed to do was to stand in front of a window in the middle of the night, his skin almost glowing in the moonlight. All Bash needed to do was to be him.  
Either he was the best actor Hal had ever met in his whole life or he was the most decent and sincere human being that ever set a foot in this castle.  
Everything about him was so incredibly honest. The way he wrinkled his nose when he didn't like something, the way he would raise his left brow when a lady tried to hit on him, the way his bright blue eyes would lit up just a little bit more when he laughed at something funny...  
The latter was a rare occurance. 

Bash's been here for five months now and he still didn't stop to stare at Hal everytime he had the chance to. Hal loved to feel his gaze on him and him alone. But he avoided to look back at him nonetheless. There was no chance he was ever going to risk his life just for a few, passionate moments with any Tom, Dick or Harry, no matter how great he was. And god, Bash was great.  
Sometimes he told himself that Bash was no Tom, Dick or Harry – That Bash was worth the risk, that he should talk to him, kiss him and love him until destiny would seperate them in one way or another. But he didn't. Maybe he was too cautious. But honestly, he was just too yellow.  
Sometimes, when his desire overwhelmed him and he acutually tried to talk to Bash, he always caught himself chicken out of the conversation almost immediately.  
Everytime he saw the disappointment and the relief in his oh so sincere and openhearted face. Bash was easy to read, which made him even more dangerous.  
He seemed like a man who couldn't contain himself. Just like he couldn't stop looking at him.

He shouldn't be thinking of him right know. He really shouldn't. Hal should learn how to ignore him more effectively, 'cause right now he felt himself tense just a little bit. Well, he should feel tense, but because of the battle they were going to fight in, in just a few moments and not because of some handsome, french guy staring at him. He didn't even know what he was doing here, since he wasn't even english. But the king liked him and his father. Both knew how to use their charm and their tongues to win over the hearts of those around him, even the cold and bitter heart of Hals father.  
Hal felt alomost reliefed as he heard the sound of the bugle.

 

It was a bloody mess. Hals muscles ached as he forced his blade into the warm flesh of the rebels stomache. The blood of the enemy poured all over his hand and those green eyes before him died slowly under his grip. Disgusted he released the corpse, letting it hit the ground.  
His soldiers were killing the remaining rebels. It hadn't been a hard battle. Those men were no warriors. They didn't know how to use a sword properly, nor did they have much stamina. Hal felt almost sorry for them. Almost.  
Just a few soldiers were able to remain on their horses. The owner of the horse, riding just in his direction, was abviously none of them. Or so Hal thought until he noticed lifeless limps hanging down like the arms and legs of a cordless marionette. He didn't recognize the soldier until the horse ran past him and a beautiful bow fell off the mans grip. Three golden lilies were painted on the very middle of the bow. France. Bash.

Shocked he started to run after the horse, slowed down by his injured leg. 

“Stop the horse!”

His voice sounded throaty but two soldiers seemed to have heard him. They caught the horses birdle rein and managed to hold up the frightened animal.

“It's the french bastard!”

Hal limped as he tried to get there as fast as he could. The soldiers were trying to get Bashs lifeless body from the back of the horse without letting him hit the ground too hard.  
Just as Hal reached him, he slumped into the grass, breathing heavily with eyes closed and blood all over his abdomen. His pale, big hand was trying to cover the wound, maybe in a weak attempt to keep it from bleeding out.

“Bash, do you hear me?”

Slowly Hal kneeled down to look into Bashs sweaty, pale face. There was no clear answer but a soft grunt, followed by a painful grimace.

“He's dying, your majesty. Let the french rat bleed out, we need to concentrate on our soldiers.”

If looks could kill, this stupid oaf of a soldier would have been dead in this very moment.

“This french rat fought for England like any other soldier. And now help me with his wound or you'll be the next one I will let bleed out.”

There was a hint of shame in the face of this stupid soldier, before he finally called the court physician who was hidden in the woods for the aftermath.

“Listen, Bash, I need you to hold on. Do you hear me? This is an order.”

A soft laugh.

“You're not my king... After all I'm just a french rat, am I not...?”

Slowly Bash opened his bright, blue eyes and looked straight into Hals own.

“Hold on. I beg you. Please.”

Bashs smile faded.

“A english prince... kneeling in front of a french rat and begging...? You really are something, Prince Hal of Wales...”

He grinned with a hint of pain.

“Stop talking, Bash. Just... just hold on.”

There was no answer, just a faint smile and a affectionate expression exposed for everyone to see, but dedicated to Hal and Hal only.


	2. A french has nine lifes

Bash survived the ride home, unlike some pitiful soldiers who died on the way.  
Bash survived the night, unlike some pitiful soldiers who died under the moonlight.  
Bash even survived the whole day after, unlike some pitiful soldiers who just faded away silently.

But he wasn't over the worst yet. Fever caught him and he was sweating like a pig. The court physician didn't think he'd survive this night.

“Go. Leave me alone with him.”

He hesitated, but obeyed in the end.

“Yes, your majesty.”

The court physician left and Hal stood next to Bashs Bed. They were alone, since he ordered to let Bash have a room on his own. It was kind of unfair, but Hal knew the whines and moans of the dying. Bash had a better chance to survive if he didn't have to hear those horrible sounds, smelling the stench of the blood and the corpses the physician yet had to discover.  
Some cursed at him for favouring the french bastard he was supposed to hate. But Bash wasn't just a french bastard. He wasn't any Tom, Dick or Harry either. No, Hal finally got it.  
Bash was special, precious even. He fell in love with him a long time ago and now that he was afraid of losing him, he ultimately gave in. 

“I'm sorry. I was a coward to ignore you.”

Slowly he sat down on the chair next to his bed. Tentatively he touched Bashs cold, sweaty hand. He didn't answer, he was just lying there, silent and unmoving like a corpse. But he could see his chest rise and fall. That was the only comfort Hal could get at the moment.  
Slowly he caressed the soft skin of Bashs wrist with his thumb and looked at his handsome face as if it was the last time he'd ever have the chance to. And maybe it was.  
When his father, the diplomat Francis de Poitier, heard of his state he refused to see his son. He didn't understand why until the king told him of Bashs mother. Since Henry and Francis knew each other for thirty years now, he got to know the former lover of his frech friend.  
She was a english mistress, nobody important, but the only woman Francis ever loved. She died in childbirth, right in front of Francis eyes. He couldn't bear to see his only son dying, too.

So Hal was the only one who cared to visit him. Some of the nobles would even feel pleased to know that there was one french enemy less living in this castle. Years ago Hal would have felt the same. France and England never got along with each other and as an english prince it was just natural to hate everything connected to that country of enemies. With the years his hate turned into simple dislike. To be honest, he didn't like the idea of Francis bastard son to live with them in the castle. First of all: He was french. That could have been reason enough. But then again, he even was a bastard, which made it even worse. Until he saw him of course.   
Every bit of hate or dislike vanished within a split second, as their blue eyes locked into each other.  
Maybe it was love at the first sight. Maybe he fell in love a few days later, while watching him from afar. Anyway he fell in love with the french bastard. And now he was dying just in front of him, sweating and fevering with cold hands and a burning forehead.

“I'm sorry. I'm really sorry. I should've... I don't know. I should've approached you. Talked to you. I shouldn't have been hiding from you, denying us any chances to find out if... You know.”

Suddenly he felt kind of stupid. Bash didn't answer, didn't even blink. Hal doubted he was even awake.

“Just don't die on me. I beg you. I promise, I'll do better if you just survive long enough to give me the chance to.”

He slowly stood up, bending forward and pressing his lips on Bashs burning forehead. It was kind of disgusting to taste the salt of his sweat, but that was only because this sweat meant fever which meant a hudge risk to die.

“After all ill weeds grow apace.”

“I prefer... the french... having nine lifes... than being weeds...”

Hal almost jumped out of his skin as Bash started to talk and opened his beautiful eyes to look at him.  
Pale lips curled up to a weak smile and Hal felt his heart skipping a beat.

“The French aren't cats, you know.”

“But weeds...? You're hurting my feelings, your majesty...”

“Hal. Just... just call me Hal.”

No answer, just a affectionate smile that caught Hal offguard.

“Fine... Hal... I'll gladly be weed if it means the next time you're gonna kiss me somewhere else... On my mouth perhaps...”

Hal laughed softly and caressed Bashs damp, brown hair with his fingers.

“I will. But you need to recover first.”

“My, my... what a cruel prince charming you are...”

“And you're cheeky.”

“I'm french, so what did you expect...?”

Before he could answer there was a knock on the door. Surely the court physician.

“I think I've got to go now.”

He stood up, releasing Bashs Hand.

“Fine... but I'll get that kiss the moment I'll leave this bed.”

“I swear, you will. But first you've got to show me that you really have nine lifes.”

“After this, I'll only have eight lifes to waste.”

That night Hal prayed to God that Bash was right.


End file.
